


plenty of fish in the sea

by kyu (dazaicat)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M, Prince Otabek, The Merpeople Hate Humans, merman yura
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-16 05:50:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11822526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dazaicat/pseuds/kyu
Summary: yura is mermaid royalty who loves to look at the sky when there's a storm at sea; otabek is human royalty who loves not drowning.for some reason, yura helps him with that.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> warning: in this au yura is a little... _hostile_ , let's say, towards humans. for instance: one drowns, and he doesn't give a fuck. (it's not otabek tho)

The sea is in an impressive mood tonight. Yura's heard the call twice already, the long, resonant honk of the palace horns -- but he is royalty, and he thinks he's allowed. It wouldn't be the first time he's broken waves to look at the stormy sky, and it's his favourite, right next to the gentle grey after it rains.  
  


Right now, the sky is a dull gunmental shade. Yura only knows what a _gun_ is through extensive warnings regarding humans and their killing machines -- but, he thinks, any human foolish enough to go out in this weather would probably die before it manages to pull a gun on him. It's a soothing thought.  
  


__Yura turns his face up to the sky, breathing in the cool sea-air and letting the heavy drops sting his cheeks. The wind always gusts at this point in a storm, leaving huge ships stranded amid rolling waves high enough to cover them whole. This isn't what he's here for; not at first. He just likes watching the sea roil and feeling the full force of its destructive power, knowing that at any moment he can slip away into its depths and avoid any danger at the surface.  
  


He's about to do just that, tired of the way the waves pull at his gills and leave them open to cold air one moment and salty water the next, when he sees a ship on the horizon. His day suddenly promises to get a lot more interesting.  
  


He flicks his tail and dips his chin into the water to set off on a brisk course towards the soon-to-be wreck. It's not far, not for Yura, and as he gets closer he takes in the extent of the damage; whoever is at the helm of the ship, they're practically powerless to save her. Her sides tip in and out of the waves hard, deck awash with cold saltwater, and the humans on board scramble at the sails like little skittering crabs.  
  


__Yura grins. She looks like a cargo ship -- and judging by the color of the sails, an important one. There will probably be something interesting once she finally goes down and the humans stop clambering all over her. He settles in for the wait, making sure to stay out of sight -- not that the humans would prioritize shooting at some humanoid figure when they're trying so hard not to die, probably, but you never know.  
  


__He watches with amusement as the mast cracks, and snaps clean in two. The sails fall hard over the deck, and the heavy edge of one is propelled by a gust of wind to fly across like a blade, catching a human right in the chest. It falls, swept off the ship -- even from the distance, the scream echoes far enough for Yura to hear. Water conducts sound very well, after all.  
  


__He keeps watching. The ship looks like she's on her last few breaths, and this whole expedition looks like it's about to become _so worth it_ very soon -- his father might frown upon the dangerous trips, but he never turns away human gold and maps -- but then a single figure catches his attention.  
  


__It's a human, dressed in something white that is easy to spot even through the sea spray. Yura thinks it's the same one that shouted after the human that was swept off the deck -- now it's stopped making sweeping gestures with its arms and looks like it's about to… jump off the ship? Yura stills. His tail, previously making long sweeping circles in the water, pauses for a moment to stretch out below him.  
  


__Granted, he wouldn't call himself an _expert_ on humans. But, he thinks, in all his decades of watching ships go down, he's never seen a human quite as stupid as to willingly abandon a sinking ship in the middle of a storm. It's… something, Yura admits. Almost worth pitying.  
  


__He slowly circles around the half-wreck to get a better view. Soon the whirlpool will form as the ship starts sinking into the water for real, but for now there's still a little time. The human's white shirt calls to Yura like a beacon, and he holds a breath he doesn't actually need to take in favour of observing intently.  
  


__The human reaches the other one in several broad, likely powerful strokes. Yura squints as it winds an arm around the neck of the other one, holding its chin above the water. It's almost impressive, Yura admits. It seems like it's actually capable of holding them both up even as the waves crash over their heads relentlessly -- but, he makes out, it doesn't seem to be doing much for the drowning one. In fact, the drowning one looks like it's trying to claw _away_ , as if to let its rescuer swim alone -- and isn't _that_ something.  
  


__The whole thing is starting to feel like a new lesson on altruism in humans. Yura snorts into the water inelegantly. As if there's any capacity for sympathy in those creatures. He should probably swim away a little, to clear the coming current that will be hard to escape if he's too close, but he keeps watch for some reason.  
  


__Predictably, soon the drowning one stops clawing at the arm holding it up and slumps in the water. The rescuer seems like it's trying to shake the human, calling out something sharp and urgent, but the human doesn't stir. The white-shirted human doesn't let go. He holds on, and Yura feels a sudden wave of impatience. If only it would _let go_ \-- holding on to a drowned corpse is dramatically decreasing the human's chances of survival, not that Yura cares about those, it's dying _anyway_ \-- but it's dying for _nothing_ , and that's so _stupid_. Yura bares his teeth. Typical stupid human.  
  


__He doesn't notice he's been swimming towards the humans in frustration, fists clenched, until the white-shirted one suddenly falls silent. Yura's blood runs even colder than normal once he realizes -- he's been _noticed_. The human is staring, and it's staring at _Yura_ , suddenly wide-eyed and stunned, and then it's shouting again. It's a word Yura recognizes: _help._

  


_Help?_ he thinks. Surely the human can't be that stupid. Him, help, a human? It makes about as much sense as the human jumping off the deck in the first place, or as much as the human not immediately pulling a weapon on Yura; though to be fair, he thinks, the human's arms are kind of occupied at the moment. The human is still shouting the word, and there's another one Yura only half recognizes, though he can tell the meaning by tone -- _please._  
  


__There's something uniquely heartbreaking in just how desperate and pleading the human sounds. Yura looks away, towards the ship: the whirlpool will form any minute now, he can feel the current pulling at his tail, he needs to leave, immediately -- the human's shout, _please!!,_ cuts sharp and urgent across the water -- and Yura makes a split-second decision that he suddenly has no room to regret. He flicks his tail, hard, and swims as fast as he can towards the drowning pair. He doesn't have room to think; all his mind is occupied with is frustration, urgency, focus, as he winds his fingers in the human's white shirt.  
  


___Let go,_ he hisses, right in the gasping human's ear. He can't hold the both of them. The human begins to protest, making sounds that resemble _I can't just_ \-- a lot, so Yura acts on pure instinct and sinks his sharp mer-teeth into the human's neck in a shallow bite. He winds one hand in the human's wet brown hair -- shorn off at the sides, long at the top -- and pulls its head back just enough to hiss into its ear again. _Let go._  
  


__The human makes a sound, pained shock, but lets go of the corpse. Yura winds an arm around it and holds on as hard as he can as he swishes his tail, all muscles flexing. The current this close is so strong, and Yura has a sudden moment of paralyzing fear when he considers that he might just not make it -- but then, he bares his teeth again and swims harder. He will not die because of a human. He will _definitely_ not die trying to _save_ one.  
  


__He doesn't bother keeping the human's head up above water. Instead, he focuses on getting them both away, and trusts the stupid human can at least keep itself breathing. He knows his destination, at least: he can't sink below water, but close by there's a rock formation that ships often crash against. He swims.  
  


Soon enough, the little rock island comes into view -- Yura spares a glance at the human. It's fallen quiet, probably focused on swimming alongside him. Yura looks away. Out of immediate danger, he's suddenly hit with the sheer _ridiculousness_ of what he's doing. It's too late now, though; he keeps swimming.  
  


The rock is slick with slimy algae. Yura grapples at it with one webbed hand, the other under the human's armpits, and tries to pull himself up. The human has grown sluggish with how cold the water is, and its lips are slowly turning blue -- but when Yura hauls himself up and _yanks_ at the white shirt, it manages to clamber up easily enough.  
  


Yura pauses, watching in mild disgust as it coughs. It's shivering, already, despite only being out of the water for a couple minutes -- the cold gusts of air feel like they'd do that, Yura thinks, if he could actually perceive cold as something negative. He turns, ready to slip into the water. He has no further obligations. In fact, he should probably leave before the thing realizes it's no longer dying and starts trying to kill or capture him or something. Humans tend to do that, he knows. Best to stay safe, away from them, and he's already gotten far too close.  
  


He's already tail-deep in the water when the human stops coughing and gasps at his retreating back. Yura knows this word too -- _wait_ \-- but that doesn't mean he has to listen. He almost ignores it, almost leaves, but then there is a cool wet touch on his shoulder and immediately Yura is turned around, teeth bared, gills _flaring_ , furious. _No one_ touches him. The human jerks its hand away immediately, eyes apologetic. Yura eyes the pulse point on its neck as he hisses through a row of sharp teeth on full display.  
  


He could kill this human, he realizes. He could drag it down with his tail -- it's muscular enough -- and bite into that bared neck, stain the white shirt red and leave it out to bleed for the sharks. He could claw lines down its face that will sting in the saltwater, he could -- he blinks. The human is holding up two hands in surrender, kneeling on the wet rock as if in front of a wild animal. Yura calms.  
  


It seems to sense it's no longer in immediate danger, because to Yura's annoyance, it starts talking at him again. The words are slow, soothing, and he thinks he gets the main gist. _What's your name_ , it asks. _What's it to you?_ , he thinks. Why does his name matter? The human won't live long, anyway. Then again -- there's little harm in telling it then, is there? Yura huffs.  
  


_Yuri,_ he hisses, the _i_ sound drawn out. The human imitates it in a low, inquisitive tone, and Yura jerks his head in a nod. It holds out a palm. Yura stares for a moment, and then bumps his head into it, before drawing back and turning away resolutely.  
  


He ignores the disappointed glint in the human's eyes as he does. He didn't just make a friend. His kind, and humans -- they don't _make friends._ The human will die here, on this rock, unless by some stroke of luck a passing ship spots it before then; and that's unlikely. He doesn't even know the thing's name --  
  


_I'm Otabek_ , he hears, just as he dips back down into the waves. He rolls his eyes and mouths the word. _Otabek._ Like he cares. He doesn't care. To show just how much he doesn't care, he flicks his tail in parting, on purpose, sending up a spray of saltwater.  
  


Then he sets off for the palace, and resolutely ignores all thoughts of the human. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3 things:  
> \- idk how to write mila. if she's wildly out of character, please let me know! i'll change the dialogue if necessary.  
> \- 'bloodweed' in this context refers to a completely imaginary plant with mystic properties.  
> \- no graphic violence happens but yura does do some shady shit to make otabek survive underwater ?? warnings for not-drowning and clawing, i guess

As he darts to the palace, Yura’s thoughts swarm around him like a school of annoying fish. He has the feeling he just did something _big,_ but he doesn’t know _how_ big, and that feeling vaguely irritates him. Eventually he’ll have to answer to his father about this, he knows. He just hopes it’s later rather than sooner.

It’s not a long swim from the rock to the palace. At most, it takes about an hour with Yura’s speed. The palace looms, as it always does, in an impressive winding sprawl of coral and marble and sand-rock; the guards at its golden-wrought gates loom, as they always do, imposing and still. Yura braces himself for the inevitable exchange as he dips down towards them.

“Prince,” one calls, raising their trident in respect. Yura echoes the movement with a hand. The other instead tips their head low before they speak, and that’s – _interesting,_ because Yura hasn’t heard anything of a new guard being assigned to the gates. He’d have met them at least once before they’d be promoted that far. He stores the thought away for later, and straightens his tail in acknowledgement.

“Your Highness,” the new guard says, eyes still lowered. “It is an honor. The sea –”

“–Surely appreciates your service. Thank you.” Yura cuts them off before they can go through the entire ceremonial greeting. It’s rude, he knows; but there is so little _time,_ and he cannot afford to waste any of it on pleasantries. At least he has a decade or so of formal speech lessons on his side. That always makes things easier.

Yura turns to the other guard. “Has my father noticed my absence yet?”

“The King had many matters to attend to. Matters of priority that, I presume, overshadowed the need to know your location.”

Yura waits, but nothing else is offered. He clicks his teeth in annoyance. “Don’t sass me, Rek. I need to know.”

Rek sighs, and caves. “He hasn’t noticed, no. But you know I will have to inform him of your arrival—”

“—If he asks,” Yura cuts in. “Inform him if he asks. Nothing more.” Rek tips his head, and Yura knows that’s the best he will get. 

He flicks his tail, and darts in close to bump his cold cheek against Rek’s temple. From the corner of his eye, he can see the other guard staring; probably unused to such blatant displays of affection from a royal. Not that Yura cares. Rek is — a _friend,_ or something like that. At the very least, Yura can rely on him in things that matter, even if he _is_ sometimes a touch too sarcastic and stiff for Yura’s taste.

He gives Yura a long look once he straightens. _I’m glad you came back safe,_ Yura interprets. He has a lot of experience reading Rek’s long looks; this is a common one.

* * *

 

As he weaves around the coral pillars of the palace, he contemplates his next move. First and foremost – he has to decide whether to mention the wreck to his father when he inevitably asks. Doing so would mean he has to come up with some kind of explanation; an unnecessary complication in an already messy situation. _Not_ mentioning it, however, would mean that his father would wonder at the omission if he hears about the wreck elsewhere. Yura can feign ignorance, of course, but lying to his own kin – as if he has something to hide, and for a _human,_ no less – feels like adding yet another mistake to an already long list.

Then there’s the human itself. He doesn’t know what possessed him to approach it in the first place, but now it’s responsibility he can’t just shrug off. For better or worse, he’s stuck with whatever winds blow.

Maybe the human will just die and there will be nothing left to do, Yura thinks. Isn’t that what would have happened anyway, had he not foolishly intervened? But if the human somehow lives – Yura has heard of this, their frankly _ridiculous_ ability to survive things they shouldn’t survive – what then? What’s to say it won’t tell everyone about the strange sea-creature that saved it from certain death?

And then the humans will come. They will come, and they fill find a way to ravage the palace to lure Yura’s people out, and they will kill whatever they can’t take along with them. Yura can’t let that happen. He’s meant to rule, someday. What kind of ruler endangers their own kingdom for one sad human? _Stupid, stupid,_ Yura thinks with rising frustration. He ducks his head, and presses his mouth into a grim, straight line. He’ll fix this. _Has_ to fix this.

To do that, he needs advice. His father, he’d prefer to avoid for now; coming tail curled to admit his latest mistake and reminding him again of how reckless his only son and heir is isn’t exactly the best course of action. There are the sea-witches, of course; but their advice always comes at a price, and Yura shudders to think what they’d do with the knowledge he’d bring to their caves. Sea-witches always had a strange soft spot for humans. That leaves one option, though: he has to seek counsel from the All-Knowing Fish.

The Fish had been alive for far, far longer than he thinks even the earliest ruling generations reach. No one knows where they came from or what enchantment lets them do what they do; they simply _are,_ and Yura’s people tend to their needs in exhange for keeping their knowledge safe. Historically, only the royal family or someone judged especially worthy could approach the Fish to ask a question or seek advice. Luckily for Yura, he’s a full-fledged royal himself, with knowledge of the ancient sea-language running through his veins. This is his _birthright._

He only hopes that his father didn’t conveniently pick that time to converse with the fish himself.

Mercifully, the huge cavern is empty when he approaches. If only no one has seen Yura on the way there, he should be able to avoid drawing any unnecessary attention to himself. The cavern itself is dark, save for a huge glowing crystal set into its floor illuminating the huge shape of the Fish.

 _Young Prince,_ echoes in the cavern in the ancient tongue of the sea. _What currents bring you here?_

Yura spreads his webbed hands and focuses on forming the hissing sounds. _I seek advice. I saved a human from a shipwreck, and now I don’t know what to do._

 _Why?_ The question lacks judgement, but Yura feels a tendril of shame curl in his gut nonetheless.

_I don’t know._

The Fish are silent for a long time. With every second, Yura loses a little bit of hope, tail growing heavier and heavier.

_Approach, young Prince.  
_

He obeys. The glowing blue-green crystal paints the scales of his tail in an ethereal glow.

_Have you ever wondered why your kind condemns the more feral of you, those cast out from your society, even as humanity is seen as a curse?_

_But we aren’t human,_ Yura thinks, and then says. There is a deep reverberating sound at that. He thinks the Fish might be laughing at him. Though – Yura’s seen outcasts, the jagged-tailed creatures with scales running up to their throats and skin so blue it matches the deepest shades of the sea. Surely their feral nature is what has his people condemn them? 

_Perhaps not,_ the Fish allows. _But you are closer than you think.  
_

_I could kill it,_ Yura replies. _If it isn’t dead yet._

_Do you wish to?  
_

At that, Yura makes another frustrated clicking sound, tail twitching in agitation. _I don’t know!_

_Death can wait, young Prince. So can knowledge. What is so special about this human, that you hesitate so?_

_I don’t know that either,_ he replies, feeling a little like he’s swimming in circles. _It was on a cargo ship. Golden symbols on the sails, but I don’t know what that means to humans outside of it being important.  
_

_Golden?_

_Yes,_ Yura confirms. _Golden._

That seems to finally satisfy the Fish. _Bring him to us, young Prince, and we may yet have more answers for you._

 _How?_ he asks, because indeed – how? _Humans cannot breathe underwater._

_Death can wait, young Prince, death can wait. But you cannot. Ask your witch-friend for bloodweed, and the rest will come to you._

Bloodweed. Why hadn’t he thought of that? _Thank you,_ he says _,_ and turns to leave. At the mouth of the cavern, the Fish send him a parting message.

_Don’t thank us yet, young Prince._

* * *

It seems like he can’t avoid a visit to the sea-witches. He hisses, intentionally sending out a burst of bubbles as he contemplates his limited options. He could steal the bloodweed from them; but they’d find out, and make him pay extra for the deceit. His best bet is simply demanding it and offering no further information as to why. That should work.

To avoid prying eyes, he slips out of another hidden entrance and makes towards the sea-witch caves. Those are strange; fully submerged, but only half-filled with sea-water and half-filled with air. It’s an enchantment that makes him lightheaded and makes his voice echo strangely in their dim halls -- lit by a purple glow from the crystals dotting their sides -- but there are worse places to be. 

To enter, he needs a blood sacrifice.

Logic being – the witches don’t _ask_ ; they seek no outside help, and merfolk come to them of their own accord. Not all merfolk have the best of intentions, though, and that’s where the ritual comes in. It’s a gesture of faith, a marker of goodwill, and it ties the visitor in a temporary magical contract that lasts for as long as they are in the sea-witch domain; _hurt no one, and no one will hurt you._

Yura pricks his finger with an incisor and watches the faint tinge of royal indigo wash away. It tinges the water an unnatural shade of pink and then the water clears, drawing Yura forward into the sea-witch caves as the rock reforms itself behind him. He takes in a deep breath, savouring the last taste of fresh sea-water before the strange dizzy feeling starts to set in.

He swims, forward, guided by the gently twinkling purple lights.

There are many witches and many caves; but he knows he’ll only find what he seeks, so he focuses on that. Cherry-red hair, cropped unusually short for their kind. A shimmering red-pink tail, scales sharp and flat. _Mila,_ he hisses, and the current stills for a second before it whisks him away with renewed strength.

It brings him directly to Mila’s own cave. It's a privilege offered only to a select few. He steels himself. She’s good at drawing information out of him, but she’s also – one of his only _friends,_ if he can call her that, and he hopes she will understand.

 _Where are you, old hag,_ he calls out. _I need something from you._

He hears no pause in the rustling somewhere vaguely upwards from where he is, but he does get a teasing call as a reply. _Long time no see, Yurik. Is that the only reason you visit me these days?_

 _I visited you just last moon for one of your ridiculous tea parties!_ he hisses in response, indignant.

‘That’s not the same and you know it,’ she says, and he whirls around as she somehow materializes behind him in a slash of pink and red.

‘Whatever, baba. I need bloodweed.’

She tilts her head at him in question. ‘Whatever for? Don’t tell me you’re planning on brewing a potion with no guidance, even you can’t be that fooli–’

‘Calm your saggy tits, Mila. I just need the plant. Fresh, if possible.’

She purses her lips and brushes past him. ‘My tits aren’t saggy, thank you very much. I can give you bloodweed, but you need to tell me what you’re using it for.’ She emerges from somewhere with a long measure of pulsing blue-green weed wrapped like a slimy tentacle around her arm. ‘I don’t want to be responsible for the only heir to the throne offing himself because he dabbled in something stronger than his tail can bear.'

‘No potions. I promise. I can’t tell you why yet, but I promise I will soon.’

She doesn’t look happy with that, but she does run her sharp red-tinged claws through the slimy weed consideringly, so he tries harder.

‘Please, Mila. It’s important. I don’t have much time to spare.’

‘Oh,’ she says, eyes widening. ‘ _That_ kind of thing, eh? Well. I hope you know what you’re doing, Yura.’

‘I hope so too,’ he says, moody, as she slices off a few strands of weed. She places it in his hand delicately, covering it with her own long claw-tipped one, and looks him in the eye.

‘Now hurry. If you’re doing what I think you’re doing, there is a time after which not even bloodweed can help.’ She pushes at his shoulder, a gesture he only allows because it’s _Mila,_ and ushers him out of her cave and back into the gradually deepening seawater. _Good luck,_ she hisses, and squeezes his hand a final time before she disappears. _Thank you,_ he calls in parting, and makes his way out. Time is ticking.

* * *

The slimy weed is surprisingly smooth against his skin, and he coils it as tight as he can as he sets off on the fastest swim he can. His father — _is probably looking for him already,_ his traitor mind whispers, and he squeezes his eyes shut for a moment to drive the worry away. He needs to focus. He can do this, and deal with his father later.

He can’t believe he’s thinking this, but – he hopes the human is still alive, despite the odds. Yura squeezes his eyes even harder, vision filling with black dots, before he surfaces with a harsh gasp about a minute from the rock formation. He opens his eyes and blinks water out. The white speck is still there, though it’s no longer moving. Yura curses, and swims harder.

 _Not dead,_ he realizes, as he gets closer. The human is lying still, but its chest is falling and rising in a slow but steady rhythm. Yura flicks his tail hard, drenching it in cold spray. It jerks awake.

When it sees him, it immediately clambers towards him, eyes wide and almost hopeful. Yura resists the urge to sneer. 

‘Hey!’

‘Come _,’_ Yura hisses in response.

It frowns a little, but moves forward. ‘Come where? You came back. I – didn’t think you’d come back.’

 _Too many words._ ‘With me,’ Yura says. ‘Come with me.’ _  
_

He drags himself out of the water in a quick and fluid movement, and drags the human forward by its jaw. It immediately grips his arm with two hands – _too cold,_ how long has it been, how is it still alive? – but Yura ignores that in favour of prying its jaw open. He shoves the slimy weed in and hopes the human doesn’t choke on it. ‘ _Eat,’_ he commands.

He takes the remaining length of the weed and quickly rakes a claw over the human’s arm. Blood wells up quickly, in tiny red dots, and he presses the weed to it. It immediately flushes a dull red color. That should do. 

The human is struggling a little, eyes wide and panicked, but he has no time for that. It swallows as Yura glares at it, and immediately looks sick. _Too bad,_ Yura thinks. _Hope it doesn’t puke on me or something._

It struggles even harder when Yura presses the now-red weed over its nose and mouth and drags it down into the water. He has to do this _fast._ The weed will keep the human alive for some time, or at least prevent it from tipping too far past the line of death to be brought back – but its effects won’t last forever, even if he did it right. 

He wraps his arm around the human’s shoulders and launches off in the direction of the palace. He’s strong enough to restrain it against his own body, but he can feel how tense and panicked it is even as he fits his chin over its head and beats his tail as hard as he can. He’d try saying something, but he doesn’t think humans can hear underwater, and its eyes are squeezed shut . He doesn’t know what kind of reassurance he can offer to a human that probably thinks he’s trying to kill it, anyway. He settles for tugging it even closer and pressing the weed harder against its face.

The palace can’t come into view soon enough. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mila's hair is intentionally 'cherry-red' instead of auburn (as in canon), and otabek's is 'dark-brown' instead of black
> 
> hi!! there are two ways this can go: yura takes bek to the palace, or to the witches. which?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: mentions of blood. mentions of coughing up blood. a shark dies. otabek doesnt die! (thanks 2 yura). sry it's short and bad and unedited but im a day early and still have time;;

* * *

About five years ago, Yura watched a shark caught in the razor-nets that humans had dragged behind the abominations that were their _fishing-ships._ He doesn't remember what he was doing before, or after; but he remembers the cold certainty that the nets were meant to _kill,_ andhe remembers the metallic tinge to the water that grew murkier as the shark thrashed in vain. Yura had pulled at the nets with his bare hands, but the razor-sharp wires only sliced at his hands and added a purple hue to the clouds of bloodied water. He stayed by its side, as it shuddered and as its tail twitched in ever-slowing beats. He watched it die; watched life trickle away to leave cold dead flesh behind, and resolved that one day the humans who had done it would bleed out the same way. 

* * *

It's halfway to the palace when Yura realizes that the human has stopped struggling. 

The bloodweed pressed to its mouth still pulses a deep crimson -- but the intensity of the color has faded, and the human's head flops softly against Yura's chest. Yura curses and presses the weed harder to its nose and mouth despite his cramping wrist. _Live_ , he thinks, almost desperately. _Live_.  
  
He reaches with his other hand to press two fingers against the human's neck; there is a sluggish pulse, in time with the bloodweed pulsing against his other wrist. It's not dead yet. Not yet, but who knows how long that will last.  


When the palace finally, _finally_ resolves itself from the murky depths Yura almost sobs in relief. The human has gone completely still against his chest, but he hopes _hopes_ _**hopes** _ with all his might and refuses to think about anything else. He can't take the human through the main gates. He can't take it to the witches, either, much as they would love it. That doesn't leave him with many options.

He spares just a second to feel apologetic and guilty and appropriately remorseful, imagining in vivid detail Rek's disappointed eyebrows when he unevitably hears of Yura's latest series of misdemeanors, before he squeezes his eyes shut and smashes his tail against the intricate beautifully colored sea-glass.

* * *

(His mother had painted that glass. Back when he had a mother, at least. He remembers very little of that. The paint was an inky, shimmering cloud between her long webbed fingers; she dragged her fingertips along the smooth panes of the glass, leaving colorful trails that somehow glistened even underwater.

When they lost her, the rooms were never used again on the King's orders. Yura knows his father still visits sometimes, the whole palace knows, but it's a quiet grief that they only share and never speak of.)

* * *

On hindsight, Yura has probably fucked up _bad._

The glass is too strong to splinter into pieces fine enough to damage Yura's tail, but the jagged edges catch on the bare skin of his arms as he pushes the human through and tries his best to keep his hand over its mouth. The colored glass floats in shards around the hole he smashed as Yura darts across the empty healing halls and surfaces with a loud gasp in one of the only places in the palace that still have _air_.

The human is suddenly heavy in his arms, but he manages to drag its waterlogged body onto a slab of stone. The weed curled around his wrist is a dull purplish hue; he tries to unwrap it but it seems to have melded with his skin, and tearing it away leaves tiny dots of blood that sting in the air and make him hiss. Unwrapping the weed from the human's mouth is harder -- its lips are so _delicate_ , though it doesn't stir as Yura yanks the tendrils away from its face.

When Yura manages to tear the weed off, the resulting cascade of red-warm- _crimson_ washes in a flood down its front that dyes its thin wet white shirt a startling shade of red. It's _choking,_ Yura realizes mutely, entire body seizing up around gasps that punctuate the endless expulsion of blood-saturated seawater from its lungs. It chokes and then it coughs and coughs and Yura's hand digs hard into its back as he tries to do _something_ to help -- it doesn't seem to do much, but then eventually the coughing gets less and less violent and the human falls back, exhausted.

It's startlingly quiet then.

Yura treads water and watches its chest rise and fall in a weak shaky rhythm. It's _cold,_ he suddenly realizes. To a human, at least, it should be cold.

As if on cue, it makes a weak noise and starts shivering. Yura's tail curls-uncurls-curls in agitation as he wonders what to _do._ He himself doesn't wear clothes; the wrapped ceremonial seaweed belt around his waist is as close to it as he gets, and usually all he has on are the intricate necklaces around his neck. He's never had to _keep warm,_ is the problem. He doesn't even _sleep_ as humans do -- well, actually, he _does_ sometimes venture far out where the rocks are heated by the sun and no humans are around to see him nap, but that's hardly helpful to him in the current situation. He can't drag the human that far. 

Maybe there's some magic that can help? Yura bares his teeth unconsciously in irritation as he regrets putting off any kind of serious study. He can't even ask Mila -- can't ask _anyone,_ except maybe the Fish, but that would have to wait until the human doesn't look like it's two breaths from death. 

He pulls himself a little higher up on the slab, out of the water, and reaches a hand out to clear away the wet hair from its face. The human's jaw is strong; sharp, but not as pointed as his own. It's not the worst face, Yura thinks, that such an ugly kind of creature could have. He can't see its eyes; but he remembers a deep dark brown, startlingly warm even with the human's panicked expression, also so unlike the shades of green and blue Yura's kind has.

Then its eyelids flutter, and after a moment of bleary slow blinks and unfocused pupils, those dark-brown eyes are fixed on Yura with a frightening intensity.

He sucks in a sharp -- unnecessary -- breath and recoils on instinct, but the human only frowns a little and closes its eyes again with a pained expression. Then it rolls weakly on its side away from Yura and coughs some more, stray flecks of blood falling into the water around the slab.

'Hey,' Yura tries. The human stills.

It doesn't respond, though, so Yura tries again. The sounds are clumsy and too-large for his mouth. 'How are you.'

At that, the human rolls slowly around and fixes him with a pained, but clear and intent gaze. It speaks in a voice hoarse and weak but unafraid.

'Where--' it coughs, and then continues --'where am I?'

Yura doesn't know how to explain, so he settles for the bare minimum. ' _Safe_.'

The human seems to think that over for a while before it asks -- 'And you?'

_That_ is a wave of indignant frustration that Yura lets wash over him without breaking. It's a fair question, even if Yura hates that it's fair. He pauses perhaps a little too long before he speaks. It's curt. 'Also safe.'

The human accepts that with a nod. Yura would be annoyed -- but he's suddenly _tired,_ so tired, adrenaline fizzing out and crashing him like a wave into rocks. He blinks against the sudden dizziness.

'You saved me.'

The declaration is startling. Yura grimaces. Yes, he saved the human. He shouldn't have, but he did, and now he _has_ to for some reason he no longer understands. 

'Do you need food,' he says instead.

The human's teeth click a little with its shivering when it replies. 'Water, please. You're -- _Yuri,_ right?'

' _Yura,'_ Yura corrects on reflex, because no one calls him _Yuri_ outside of ceremony. Then he flicks his tail in annoyance as he catches himself. 'Whatever. Be quiet.'

For some reason, that elicits a low and quiet laugh from the human, which Yura resolutely _ignores_. 'I will bring water. Don't die.' He puts an extra note of warning into his tone for the last part, just in case.

'I'll try,' is his answer.

_More than try,_ Yura thinks. Somehow, he's reluctant to leave it alone. He darts in and presses his cheek against the human's chest as some kind of compensation, to make the anxious-worried feeling loosen. It's wet and there are definitely blood smears across his cheek now and the human is still with surprise, its chest too-cold, but for the moment it's enough.

Yura pulls away resolutely. With a shake of his head, he pushes the thoughs further away. For now, his job is simple; get water, try to find food, figure out how to keep the human warm. Then he can see about getting it to the Fish, and figuring out _why_ he had to bring it to the palace in the first place. One stroke at a time. 

He spares the human one last glance and then dives back into the salty water. He can identify the warmth in that shade of brown now; it's _hope,_ and it haunts him all the way to the cooking halls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> k so now yura needs freshwater. in a sea palace. how tf. help ??

**Author's Note:**

> comments n kudos fuel my soul; pls validate me thank u
> 
> **next:** chapter 4 | 16/9 [ **[t](http://wingtae.tk)** ]


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